


when one meets the other half, the actual half of himself

by fructose



Series: a thread from one's own innards [1]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Blood, Gang AU, Gore, Kinda, M/M, Serial Killers, Violence, gross stuff, self-indulgence, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 01:49:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6545545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fructose/pseuds/fructose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Tyler and Josh were only ever cruel when it was necessary; when someone had said too much, someone had said too little, when people had crossed them or tried to cheat them. The worker bees would gather the offender up, wrap them neatly in duct tape and nylon rope and deliver them like a birthday gift to the front door of Tyler and Josh’s apartment. They would drag the delivery to the second bedroom (soundproof, splash-proof, lockable outside and in) like spiders dragging prey into a silk tunnel."</p>
            </blockquote>





	when one meets the other half, the actual half of himself

They tried to live a non-violent lifestyle, despite the company they kept. They lived in an apartment in downtown Columbus that had three bedrooms, though only one had a bed. The living room overlooked the river and in the morning the white sunlight poured through the high windows onto the wooden floors.

There were people around them, those that dealt with money and with property, with the smaller issues involved in their business. Josh called them friends, while Tyler muttered “colleagues at best” when the subject was brought up. _Worker bees_ , he would think to himself as he watched Josh clap them on the back and tell them, “Hey, good job, man,” when the situation called for kindness.

Tyler and Josh were only ever cruel when it was necessary; when someone had said too much, someone had said too little, when people had crossed them or tried to cheat them. The worker bees would gather the offender up, wrap them neatly in duct tape and nylon rope and deliver them like a birthday gift to the front door of Tyler and Josh’s apartment. They would drag the delivery to the second bedroom (soundproof, splash-proof, lockable outside and in) like spiders dragging prey into a silk tunnel.

Tyler had learned very quickly that he liked to watch Josh work, he liked to watch the way the muscles stretched under Josh’s white skin when he was hurting people, how the tendons in his bare arms flexed when he drew his arm back to throw a punch. Tyler would stand back against one of the white walls and watch the blood pepper Josh’s face, his fingers twitching in the gore.

Tyler liked it when the victims bled out, gushing thick and red hot over his hands and onto the plastic flooring. He liked to press his fingers into the wounds they had made, blinking curiously up into the eyes of whomever was dying above him.

Afterwards they hurt each other, buzzing with adrenaline. It was a furore of violent acts that normally always ended with Tyler pinned between the blood-spattered floor and Josh’s body, gleeful and victorious despite his position. Their kisses were copper and when they fucked the smell of sex mingled with the hot smell of spilled-insides and made them feel nauseous.

They showered separately and afterwards lay clean together on the white sheets of the bed they shared.

“We shouldn’t do that anymore,” Josh said occasionally, his arm behind his head. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

Tyler would shrug and tilt his head away. “We have to keep up our reputation.”

They always made sure that the murders were recognisable, that gangs in other cities and other states would hear about them and know _it was_ _those Columbus boys_. The bodies were disposed of in the Scioto River and would often be dredged up weeks later by some unsuspecting fisherman or by some poor kid on the river bank. The papers would catalogue the hallmarks of their murders in the reports that followed, a black and white list of reasons why _you do not mess with those kids_.

“Reputation, right,” Josh would say, rolling towards Tyler so that he could pull them together into the middle of the bed, the white sheets cool and crisp beneath them. “That’s all, huh?”

Tyler smiled, small and conspiratorial. “Yup, just that.”

**Author's Note:**

> A repost. Apologies. More violence to come.


End file.
